A day for Glamorgan, for Michael Hogan and for a team of new heroes

NICK FRIEND AT TRENT BRIDGE: The sceptics said this would be a competition for kids and a month that didn’t matter; its last delivery ended with a 40-year-old mobbed, leaping for joy at the centre of a delirious pile-on

Trent Bridge: Glamorgan 296-9, Durham 238 - Glamorgan win by 58 runs

Scorecard

It was at Trent Bridge rather than Lord’s. It was a Thursday, not a Saturday. It was a Royal London Cup like none before, with 18 squads depleted to varying degrees.

And yet, you somehow doubt Glamorgan will care.

For all the noise around The Hundred and its impact on squads up and down the country, this never risked becoming a second-team competition – certainly, not if you have ever watched second-team cricket, anyway. There were excellent crowds, overseas players, tangible consequences and former Test captains, and some of the early talk threatened to disrespect the near-300 pros without a Hundred deal who simply saw cricket to play and a trophy to win.

Indeed, contrary to prior scepticism, this competition has accomplished plenty. As one senior player told The Cricketer last week: “I think what it’s done for me is make me realise that The Hundred isn’t the be-all-and-end-all.”

For Michael Hogan, an icon of his adopted county and one of the great professional cricket stories of recent times, this is surely the icing on the cake. It has been his opportunity to set a benchmark for less experienced colleagues, to keep a lid on young dashers at the top of the order and, quite simply, to do what he does best. The 40-year-old, who was playing pub cricket for The Cricketers Arms in rural Australia at 21, made his first-class debut at 28 and has become a legend of the game in Wales. Remarkably, this has only been his job for 12 years. In 10 Royal London Cup appearances over the last month, he has taken 16 wickets at 12.56 apiece, with an economy rate of 2.99. You could only be chuffed for a man with his backstory.

For Kiran Carlson, who played an exceptional, match-defining hand of 82 in 59 balls, it has provided an invaluable opening as stand-in captain.

One of the most fascinating aspects of this tournament was its sense of social experiment. What would happen if you removed the senior pillars from a dressing room? Who might step up? How would the rest fare without their guidance?

Chris Cooke, Glamorgan’s wicketkeeper and regular skipper, has been on Birmingham Phoenix duty, though he tweeted a photo of himself in situ at Trent Bridge, supporting his friends and colleagues on a day that came to mean everything.

With the bat, this has been a lean month for Carlson, for whom the first half of this season was a real breakthrough. Once upon a time, he became the youngest man in the history of English cricket to make a first-class century and claim a five-wicket haul. He was 18 then and a product of Whitchurch High School, the alma mater of Gareth Bale, Sam Warburton and Geraint Thomas. They have another champion to add to the honours board.

^{Michael Hogan was mobbed after taking the final wicket}

He began this year in similarly prolific fashion, churning out two hundreds and three fifties. But leadership takes its toll, especially on a young man learning on the job; he had made just 151 runs in nine innings before strolling to the crease at Trent Bridge, after losing the toss and being invited to set a target for Durham’s much-vaunted batting line-up to chase. So, it spoke volumes for the calibre of Carlson’s personality that he picked the biggest stage of his short career to light fire.

When the draft takes place for the next edition of The Hundred, it will count for something. More broadly, when circumstances allow for the resumption of England development tours abroad, it will nudge his burgeoning reputation that little bit further up a lengthy line of quality 50-over batsmen in the domestic system, having done it when it mattered most. James Taylor was watching, too.

Not that those of a Glamorgan persuasion needed any further proof of his talent or temperament, of course. But leaving his indelible mark on a major final is an achievement that will never leave him.

His was not a lone hand, however. Durham had passed 280 six times in the group stage, racking up 405 for 4 against Kent in their competition opener, and were arguably still marginal favourites when the second half of the game began.

They have been the most dominant team in the country, with their batting line-up virtually untouched by The Hundred, and Chris Rushworth leading an otherwise-youthful bowling attack. Graham Clark passed 140 on three occasions; Alex Lees passed 58 in all but three innings – this was the first time in the entire month that neither made a half century; Scott Borthwick was named as the player of the tournament. All told, their top seven racked up eight hundreds and 17 fifties in nine games, doing so in a most splendid retro jersey – the kind that clubs normally release in a leisurewear range rather than for their pros.

But their downfall was plotted by the off spin of Andrew Salter, a 28-year-old biking enthusiast, who co-runs Baffle Culture, a motorcycle brand, in his spare time. That particular passion developed during his university days while watching a documentary in which David Beckham trekked around South America on a Triumph. He has converted a garage into a base that now acts as a clubhouse for motorcycling culture in Wales.

And while that particular venture is thriving, in the day job these were some of his finest hours. He had already dragged Glamorgan towards a total of 296 for 9 with a tail-end counterattack, before accounting for Clark, Lees and David Bedingham – an axis that has been so consistently excellent for Durham this year – and caused a panic from which they could not fully recover.

^{Sean Dickson's 84 was in vain for Durham}

At the other end, Steven Reingold enticed Cameron Bancroft to slap a longhop down the throat of deep square leg: another scalp for a 23-year-old who – like Luke Doneathy, 19, in Durham’s ranks – will be forever grateful for this tournament’s circumstances in affording an opening where one might not previously have existed.

Reingold is a student at Cardiff University, born in South Africa and brought up in London, where he plays for Stanmore – the club of Mark Ramprakash and Angus Fraser. The same could be said for Joe Cooke, not long out of Durham University, but the competition’s leading wicket-taker less than a month on from his List A debut. Chuck in Dan Douthwaite, who has been on Hundred duty but was another plucked by Glamorgan from the now-defunct MCCU scheme, and they are being rewarded for their faith.

Durham, on the other hand, were left to rue a glorious chance.

The date was October 3, 2016.

“What we need now is all of your support because we won’t stop fighting until we get this club back up to where it belongs. End.”

The king had spoken. It was a tweet from Paul Collingwood, Durham’s favourite son: an Ashes winner and a title-winning county captain, a human embodiment of the northeast and its values.

He offered a message for his region. It was a rallying call – of defiance and resilience, all the things on which his career had been founded – but no doubt typed out with a brave face, crossed fingers and a despairing, heartfelt fear of what might happen next. It was also a plea for patience: a reluctant acknowledgement that this wasn’t a quick fix. But most of all, it was a promise that Durham County Cricket Club would come out the other side and that days like this would happen once again.

They had been relegated in unprecedented style – not because of their performances in the County Championship, but rather on account of a financial mess. In 2016, they finished fourth in the top division, only three years on from their third red-ball title in five seasons. They were everything that English cricket wanted from its county structure: a competitor for trophies, a production line of international cricketers, a paragon for others to admire.

And then, the rug was pulled. There was an exodus: a stream of leading players disappeared for pastures laden with greater security. Durham’s future was uncertain, and careers are short, fragile things.

^{Kiran Carlson played the match-defining innings}

One of the most beautiful aspects of Durham’s continued revival this season has been the return of Borthwick as captain. He is 31 now, but still the immensely popular, blonde-haired, ever-smiling allrounder that first arrived on the scene over a decade ago. In Tuesday’s semi-final win, Mark Stoneman – his former teammate with Durham and Surrey – churned out a hundred, albeit in a losing cause. Much like Borthwick’s second coming, it felt gloriously appropriate, as if the various protagonists of the last five years were assembling once more as the stars aligned. This morning, Graham Onions tweeted his best wishes.

Ultimately, today wasn’t their day. As Durham know better than most, sport can be a cruel bastard. It was impossible not to feel considerable sympathy for Borthwick, but more so for Rushworth, the last wicket to fall – a fate he didn’t deserve – and a man who has given so much to the cause through good times and bad. Sean Dickson stood helpless at the non-striker’s end, unbeaten on 84 but with the game out of reach.

Glamorgan celebrated. They celebrated like a team not used to these moments. They celebrated like a team for whom this mattered. There will be tears tonight, if they haven’t already been shed. Until this evening, they were the only professional side never to have emerged victorious in a one-day final.

Stumps were ripped from the ground, and Hogan – a quiet, introverted individual but widely admired as one of the great stalwarts of the domestic circuit – had his first wicket of the day, but perhaps the most significant of his life.

The sceptics said this would be a competition for trialists, teenagers and second-rate athletes, a month that didn’t matter. And yet, its last delivery ended with a 40-year-old club hero mobbed by a captain almost half his age, earmarked for great things, leaping for joy at the centre of a delirious pile-on.

For Collingwood, his club is back where it belongs, competing on afternoons like this. For Carlson, mulleted, moustachioed and still just an interim skipper, he and his side have a place in history.